Not What I Intended
by firefly.1212
Summary: In which the One Ring has some advice for Frodo. Unfortunately things don't go exactly the way it had planned. Implied F/S slash.


**Disclaimer**: I do not own LotR, I am but a humble worshipper.

**Not What I Intended**

_Frodo?_

"What is it?" he asked. His voice was low and croaky with exhaustion but instead of sleeping he lay on his side with me resting on his palm, circling his finger around the edge of me with a vague look of possessiveness on his face. Although flattering, his behaviour was a little unnerving, particularly since he'd spent the past three nights doing exactly the same thing. By that point I was getting a bit freaked out and feeling slightly violated.

_I thought I would __take this opportune moment to offer you a piece of advice._

"What?" Both of his eyes opened wider than I'd ever thought possible and I was nearly blinded by bright, sparkling blue. "But… Why would you…" I waited impatiently for his stuttering to turn into actual words. What eventually followed was incredibly anti-climactic. "Huh?"

_Your wit astounds me as usual. Rest assured that if I had eyes they would be permanently welded to the sky. If I had hands I would have whacked you upside the head many times by now._

He continued to stare at me with an expression of complete bewilderment that did nothing to convince anyone he was of any notable intelligence. I metaphorically sighed; mocking him grew exceptionally dull rather quickly, particularly since he did nothing but pout in reply.

_Look, don't act so shocked. I'm not doing this because I'm bored out of my mind and sick of your constant whining (but I am both of those things, by the way) but rather because I've noticed there's something else on your mind when you take me in your palm and night and lovingly stroke me like I'm your only reason for existence. _I only just stopped myself from adding: _Like a total creep._

He pretended not to know what I was talking about.

_Don't be thick. I know things. I've been alive longer than Legolas and Gandalf put together. Probably. Plus I have considerably higher intelligence, not to mention I spent five hundred years alone in a dark cave with no one but Gollum for company and have learned a lot from his obsession over me. If you really were as captivated by me as you make out, you'd be entering the cackling and drooling stage by now. As there is a significant lack of both cackling and drooling, I'm inclined to think that your feelings for me don't run as deep as you'd have people think._

"I don't want people to think I have any other feelings for you other than absolute loathing," he retorted defensively.

_Then why in the name of Gandalf's underpants do you always succumb to my coaxing you to put me on your finger when the Nazgûl are breathing down your neck even though you're fully aware that doing so will result in your imminent demise followed by the destruction of Middle-earth?_

My derisiveness obviously upset his already fragile emotional state. He gave a pathetic sniffle and his eyes grew noticeably wet. I could tell he was preparing to launch into one of his poor-me-I-can't-carry-this-burden-I'm-just-an-innocent-hobbit speeches (or he was about to burst into tears, which was basically the same thing) so I hurriedly cut him off.

_Frodo, we've been travelling together for some time and, although this agonisingly tedious journey will ultimately end in my murder and you're driving me insane with your constant woe-is-me attitude, and I really don't agree with your allowing Gollum to live, much less employing him as your guide, and I _especially_ don't appreciate Sam's insisting that I'm out to cause devastation wherever I go, I've actually sort of grown to like you._

He sniffed again and dammit, he actually looked really cute. His guileless eyes were like a secret weapon that he enjoyed unleashing on random strangers (including that greasy Strider guy). As much as I hated stooping so low as to lie through my metaphorical teeth (I'll have you know I have my pride), the change in his expression brought me great relief – it meant I'd narrowly avoided having to endure another day or two of relentless sulking.

"Why should I take advice from you?"

Oh great, now came the over-exercised caution again. Damn that Strider for being a 'good person' and 'looking out for Frodo's safety' by telling him it's a bad idea to throw yourself at the first person who offers you help.

_You don't usually hesitate to do everything I tell you_.

It was a fair fact to point out, but apparently Frodo didn't think so. He stuck his lower lip out again and took a deep breath.

_Okay okay. Firstly, I don't readily hand out advice and, when I do, it's only to the (very few) people I like, so you should treat this as an honour. Secondly, you're already in enough danger and liable to die sometime in the near future so it isn't all that necessary for me to help you along. And thirdly, if you _did_ die now, in the middle of nowhere, Gollum would snatch me up and take me back to his underground lair where he'll spend another five hundred years incessantly talking and stroking me in a creepy way and slobbering a lot. If I'm totally honest, I really don't think I can go through all that again without completely cracking. So it's in my best interests to stay with you for as long as possible regardless of the fact you plan to kill me._

I could practically hear the gears in his hobbit-brain whirring as he processed my rousing speech. Eventually he seemed to come to the conclusion that I wasn't hatching a nasty plot to lead him into a messy, undignified death for he finally answered: "What's the advice?"

_Glad you've come around. As I was saying, I've noticed there's been something on your mind lately - something other than carrying me to my own doom and subsequently saving the world. And since there's nothing around here but rocks for miles and miles except your fat gardener and Gollum, I understandably made the assumption that the object of your musings is the fat one._

"Sam's not fat," he countered automatically. Then he seemed to realise the implications of what I was saying. "You think I have… You think I _like_ Sam?"

_Well it's either him or Gollum, and I'd strongly implore you not to go there if it is the latter._

Frodo had lost the ability to speak. His jaw flopped about uselessly. A cold feeling spread through me as I realised he resembled one of the hapless fish Gollum had a revolting habit of eating raw. It wasn't rare for him to sink his horrible yellow teeth into them when they were still half alive. If I'd had a stomach and I mouth I would have vomited watching him eat. Not that I had a choice; he'd seldom set me down more than a foot away from him for a number of years.

Thankfully I was saved from reliving the memory by the hobbit's voice. "Ring, I think you're right."

_I usually am_.

He shot me a glare in response to my smugness. It was a good thing he had me on his palm otherwise he would have looked a complete fool staring viciously down at his own chest. Laughing would not have been the wisest move for me at that moment.

_So what are you going to do about it?_

"Why do you want me to do anything about it?" he questioned, throwing up his caution barriers again.

_Your mind has been occupied by me for too long_, I told him saccharinely. _It is time you thought of something that made you happy, and lessened the burden of this quest._

He seemed to accept my reasoning, bless his naive little heart. "What should I say to him?"

_Anything would do. He's already completely smitten with you. Plus you've been leading him on for a while now._

"Really? I've never even noticed," he murmured in wonder.

_Well you wouldn't, would you?_ The look he gave me made me fight to smooth out my snappish tone. _That is to say, you do not have the advantage of being all-seeing. How could you possibly know?_

That was a close one. Luckily he didn't press it any further. He had adopted that foggy, dreamy expression that clearly stated his mind was somewhere else entirely. I waited for what seemed like an age for him to come back down to Middle-earth, and when he didn't do it of his own accord I took it upon myself to invade his thought clouds and give him a metaphorical nudge (alright, shove) in the right direction. His mind was full of the fat hobbit's face; I dared not look too closely at his thoughts lest I betray my disgust and Frodo get all tetchy again.

_Go talk to him_, I urged. _You know you want to_.

"I do want to." His words were slightly slurred; he still hadn't grasped the art of masking the evidence that I had complete control over his mind. Still, at least I was getting my own way and (as repulsive as it was for me to imagine) sharing feelings of affection with the other hobbit would take Frodo's mind off the imminent perils that awaited him around every corner and I wouldn't have to put up with his infernal complaining or Sam openly voicing his contempt for me. I hated to think of the misery I would experience if all-powerful rings could get headaches.

Whilst I'd been otherwise occupied, Frodo had gathered all of his hobbity courage and gone over to Sam's bed roll (which was only literally half a foot away from Frodo's own) and the two hobbits were talking with their foreheads resting against each other. I deliberately blocked out their conversation, having no desire to be subjected to Sam admitting the debauched fantasies he frequently had about Frodo. (Sometimes his thought processes are disgustingly obvious.) I heard Frodo say something that sounded like "Oh Sam," (honestly, and he pretends to be innocent about leading him on?) and suddenly I was unceremoniously squished between two filthy, stinking tunics.

That's when I realised I'd made a huge mistake. Frodo was too paranoid to remove my chain from his neck even if he and Sam were to... Ew, that was too gross to even think about. That meant I would be forced to dangle there all night, resulting in numerous mental scars me ultimately going against my purpose and throwing myself into Mount Doom as soon as we eventually arrived there. That was assuming those two scandals could tear themselves away from each other for long enough to actually get anywhere close to Mordor.

I was involuntarily awoken from my thoughts when I noticed Gollum. He sat hunched in a crevice between two rocks and his greedy, luminescent eyes were fixed on me. Was it just me, or did he suddenly look very, very hungry? Oh perfect, he was drooling again. His eyes grew bigger (how was that even possible?) when he noticed I was looking at him. As usual the fact that I didn't want him any closer went straight over his bald head. Gollum had always been the unconditionally possessive type.

The repulsive creature began to slowly but surely crawl towards me on all fours.

_Hey Frodo? I could use a little help here. Gollum looks like he wants to do similar things to me to what Sam regularly thinks about doing to you._

There was no reply, only a moan loud enough to cause any Orcs within a five mile radius to make a roaring beeline for us.

_Oi, listen to me, you good-for-nothing midget! I was the one who got you where you are now. Do I not deserve something in return?_

The glow of Gollum's eyes was getting brighter. I swore I could even hear his wheezing breaths.

_I swear if you don't show me some gratitude I'm going to find a way to tell Sauron exactly where you are and he'll dismember you and your podgy gardener-turned-stalker whether you've got any clothes on or not._

The air had actually become tangy with Gollum's fetid odour. He was close enough now for the hissing and whispering noises he was making to turn into words: "There it is, my precioussss. We takes it now, we takes it from those filthy, tricksy hobbitses. Come to usss, my precioussss!"

Crap.


End file.
